As Day Ends
by liptonrm
Summary: Each hobbit has his own reasons for continuing on and seeing the Quest to its bitter end.


Disclaimer: Hobbits are my inspiration, not my property. The characters and themes discussed in this work were created by the esteemed Prof. Tolkien and are being used with the deepest respect and love.

_Twilight_

**Sam**  
  
The fog swirled grey and heavy amongst the trees that surrounded Woody End, obscuring the familiar, well-ordered fields that lay beyond. Sam stood alone, cold and damp in the early morning gloom, not able to tell if he was truly awake or if he still lay dreaming in the elvish bower. A water bottle lay forgotten on the ground by his feet as he stared blindly into the surrounding whorls and patterns. He couldn't forget the events of the past evening, his mind still full of black shapes and elvish light. He was still caught by how the elves had honored his master, as well they should, and by the overwhelming beauty of their speech. Every word had been like poetry and Sam hadn't wanted to sleep because of the wonder of it all. He could still hear in his mind the conversation between his master and that elf-lord, Gildor.  
  
_Take those as are willing._  
  
_'And are you truly willing, Samwise Gamgee?'_ was his following thought. It was as if Gildor were speaking right there, in his mind. Suddenly he could feel the cold and terror of the night before, the horror that came with that black thing, whatever it was, and only vanished with the coming of the elves. The fog before him seemed to thin and Sam began to catch glimpses of a hard, dark, barren landscape where no green things could ever dwell. _'Will you follow him down this dark road?'_  
  
A cold moment of doubt stole over him at the sight of that desolate land. He felt very small and lost and did not know what help he could be in such a place. How could someone like him be of any use? Why would his master ever need him with elves and the like to help and guide him? What good could a hobbit like him do when fighting with evil rings and dark creatures?  
  
"I'll do what I have to." Came his defiant reply as a determination he had never known he possessed seemed to strengthen his back and give voice to his thoughts. "After all, I couldn't very well leave him."  
  
Sam stooped and picked up the forgotten water bottle. He had work to do and he'd best be about doing it.

**Merry**  
  
He was falling and he couldn't remember why. There had been something there. Merry remembered wanting to breathe open, clean air, he remembered the darkness and the comfort he had found in realizing that he found the same, familiar stars sparkling over Bree. He also remembered a dark, bitter cold that had swept down his spine and a foreboding, amorphous blackness that was darker then night. It had blotted out the stars and Merry had looked at it, stared right into it and suddenly found that he was falling. It felt almost leisurely, as if he were falling backwards into the Brandywine on a hot summer's day.  
  
He couldn't move and he couldn't breathe and he knew that there were hideous things all around him in the water. He could almost see them through the grey swirling liquid. They were dark and they were hideous and he was certain that if they found him he would never be able to escape. He wished he could scream when he felt cold tentacles slither around his head and he knew they had found him and he couldn't breathe, oh how he just wanted to breathe, please just one breath...  
  
Merry's eyes shot open and he took one long, shuddering, beautiful breath. For a moment he didn't know where he was or, indeed, who he was, and that didn't really concern him. He simply luxuriated in the fact that he could breathe and he could move and it didn't seem that he was dead after all.  
  
With another shuddering breath he remembered everything. For some reason that he could not explain, even to himself, he had followed that darkness, what must have been one of those Black Riders he had heard about. He remembered the danger and the fear and he shivered in spite of himself. This would happen again, Merry realized, he would spend the rest of this journey desperately running towards danger and darkness instead of away from it. He had known that, of course. He had understood the danger in Crickhollow and felt the darkness in the Old Forest and on the Barrowdowns but it had never come so close before, or been so real. Would he really be of any use at all in what was to come?  
  
Merry shook his head briskly, dislodging both fear and doubt. He quickly stood up and took off running back to the Prancing Pony without seeing the concerned and bewildered hobbit who was standing beside him. All that mattered now was informing Frodo of the new danger he had seen.

**Frodo**  
  
Day and night were becoming one. The grey land through which they trekked during the day was blending together with the misty world of his dreams and Frodo was no longer sure that he could differentiate between the two. His attention drifted through the cloud-heavy days, he was unable to focus on those around him, incapable of hearing the comments of his friends and kin, impotent to find the desire within himself to continue journeying down the never-ending Road.  
  
A spear of cold shot down his left arm, causing Frodo to gasp softly. His arm had grown progressively numb since that night under Weathertop and the sudden burning sensation was as surprising as it was terrifying. It was frightening as a reminder of the evil that pursued and preceded him and of the Evil that he carried himself. Yet, that memory of fear could not stir him out of the apathy into which he was sinking ever more quickly.  
  
Shadows and shades rose before Frodo's eyes and in his mind the whispers grew stronger, more insistent. He was powerless to ignore them and so they echoed through his mind, urging him to let go, telling him to lay his Burden aside and accept his Fate. The wound in his shoulder throbbed in time with the lilting, insidious, interminable mutterings that stopped his ears to the sounds of the outside world. He felt his will slowly and subtly slipping away in the face of such implacable desire and he sensed himself falling slowly, inexorably into the cold, binding haze.  
  
Without warning the mist cleared away from his eyes. The sun shone warm upon his face and he sighed as he sensed Bill whicker beneath him. Frodo turned his face up into the cleansing heat and rejoiced in the light, though it shone pale from an overhung sky. The cold in his arm lessened and his thoughts came sharply into focus. His heart swelled with a sudden blinding hope and Frodo, though horrified by the memory of engulfing mist, felt his will come to bear and the strength to continue rose from within. As a lonely plant he reached to the Sun and basked in her hope of life.

**Pippin**

Pippin felt cold and tired and scared and smaller then he had ever thought he could possibly be. The exhilarating euphoria that had swept through him as he saw the waters arise and sweep down on the Black Riders had drained out of him and now he felt empty and forlorn. He imagined that if someone were to come up and pat him on the back that the sound would echo through his whole body like a barrel of beer that had been drained dry.

Pippin choked a little as an involuntary noise welled up from his chest. He couldn't tell if it was a giggle or a sob and that inability to understand something as simple as laughter or tears brought everything tumbling down around him. He had always dreamed that his great adventure would be exciting and romantic. He had pictured himself strong and confident fighting off goblins and trolls and outwitting strange, fishy creatures with strange accents. He had never thought that he would be so powerless, swept along in danger's wake as they ran from nightmares turned real. He could still see Frodo small and weak on that great white horse, defiant in the face of wraiths and in spite of his own injury and there he had stood on the bank, unable to do anything more then wave a silly stick in the air and watch as watery horses tumbled over and over drowning everything in their wake. He would never forget how still and white Frodo had been when they found him unconscious on the other side of the ford.

This time the involuntary noise he made was most definitely a sob. Pippin felt a tear fall unbidden on his cheek and he viciously wiped it away. He was supposed to protect Frodo and instead it seemed like everything he did had turned out to be absolutely pointless. He hadn't been able to resist the lure of Old Man Willow, he hadn't been able to protect Frodo when the Riders had come upon them in the Shire or in Bree or under Weathertop and he had acted like a scared ninny when he had found Bilbo's stone trolls. He might as well have stayed behind in the Shire with old Fatty for all the help he had been.

Pippin glanced over his shoulder at the grey hills and the water that shone faintly in the deepening twilight. He could always turn around and just go home. No one would miss him and they would all probably be better off without one more piece of baggage to drag along. It was best that he leave before he did something incredibly foolish that just put Frodo in even more danger then he already was. He briskly readjusted his pack on his shoulders, ready to turn around and leave this particular adventure in more competent hands when he heard a soft, muffled noise that sounded quite a bit like his own choked sob of only a moment before. Pippin glanced forward and noticed Merry awkwardly scrubbing at his eyes. With a start Pippin stopped dead in his tracks, a thousand thoughts and ideas fluttering through his mind. Suddenly and with great clarity Pippin realized that he couldn't leave, not now, not in the middle of the adventure and certainly not after they had all gone through so much together.

He had to see this through, no matter what. After all, he couldn't abandon Frodo or Merry or even Sam when there was still so much danger out there in the wide world.


End file.
